


Slowly Speeding Downwards

by zombiesbecrazy



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Batfamweek2020, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson is Robin, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, MetaHumanAU, No editing we die like mne, There are laughs and then there are tears and then there are hugs and tears, and then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiesbecrazy/pseuds/zombiesbecrazy
Summary: Bruce couldn’t remember a time before now that his brain had simply screeched to a halt and went blank at the findings on the screen. Never had he thought that what he was seeing in front of him was possible and now that it was staring at him in the face he was stunned into a husk of confused matter.It couldn’t be. He had to be wrong.But he wasn’t. He had run the numbers countless times. He was right and he hated it.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 49
Kudos: 532





	Slowly Speeding Downwards

**Author's Note:**

> BatFam Week 2020 - Day 1 - Metahuman AU
> 
> Just an excuse to do something with my 'Dick is a metahuman' headcanon.

There was a sense of calm that came over Bruce when he was doing research. It was his favourite part of his job, with the puzzle pieces and the facts bringing far more answers than punching someone in the face ever could. Things that he worked on in the cave, in front of his computer or combing through research and evidence items, were things that usually had solid answers after sifting through the depths long enough.

That didn’t always mean that he liked the answers that he found. It was par for the course, when something that he uncovered made him uneasy. Grim and twisted findings often gave him pause, where he had to wait and think and reflect on the darkness that could be humanity before he could move on with how to solve the problem. Eventually he had always found a way to muddle through even if the situation was murky at best. It was part of the job and he was proud of the way he could separate all the parts and then put them back together to make sense.

He couldn’t remember a time before now that his brain had simply screeched to a halt and went blank at the findings on the screen. Never had he thought that what he was seeing in front of him was possible and now that it was staring at him in the face he was stunned into a husk of confused matter.

It couldn’t be. He had to be wrong.

But he wasn’t. He had run the numbers countless times. He was right and he hated it.

“Alfred.” Voice rough and cracking, the first word he had spoken aloud in hours felt empty in his mouth, like it no longer had meaning. He cleared his throat to try again and the words sounded clearer even if the rest of the message remained just as hollow as before. “He has it.”

Footsteps echoed across the stone floor and Bruce felt Alfred stand behind him, but he refused to drag his eyes from the screen, not wanting to miss the chance that the results would change, that the computer would figure out where the calculations went wrong, and magically make the results vanish. “Who has what, Master Bruce? I believe that I require slightly more information.”

Bruce sighed and waved his hand absently at the data scrolling across his monitors. “Dick. His bloodwork results had an abnormality so I did further testing.”

“Is he alright?”

“It’s bad.” The lump in his throat wasn’t going away. He didn’t know how he was going to get the words out, but he had to tell Alfred. Alfred would know what to do. Alfred surely would be the one who would know how to fix it. Bruce’s fingers curled into the arms of the chair, soft leather pressing back up into him. “He tested positive for the metagene.”

Alfred came around the chair, placing a careful hand on Bruce’s shoulder and stared at him blankly with only the sound of the bats in the rooftop and the hum of the computer banks filling the room, doing nothing to break the tension of the news. Bruce leaned into the touch, burden of the information being shared lightening the load, if even just an infinitesimal amount.

Until Alfred burst out laughing.

Not a wry chuckle, like the way he did when they watched old episodes of Fawlty Towers on the VHS tapes in the den, nor was it the fake chortle he gave when visitors said something that they thought was amusing and he was playing along. No, this was a full on belly laugh that left Alfred howling, bent over double and gasping for breath.

Bruce shook Alfred’s hand off his shoulder, instead leaning forward in his chair to get closer to the screen again, glaring at the data as if it had personally offended him. “I’m serious.”

It took Alfred several attempts to get his laughter under control, with a few false starts, before it tapered off, and he wiped a tear from his eye. “I know you are. That is what makes it so amusing.” Bruce scowled at him but it only made another snicker escape from Alfred, who clamped a hand over his mouth before collecting himself again, though he couldn’t rid himself of the grin plastered on his face. “You made it sound as if something was seriously wrong with the child.”

“There is.”

“There isn’t. You had me thinking that he was dying of an incurable illness.” Alfred leaned back against the consol, crossed his arms and looked at Bruce for a long moment before nodding to himself. “Though I can tell that you feel differently. Tell me what is troubling you, son.”

What _wasn’t_ troubling Bruce? Taking in Dick three months ago had seemed like such a good idea, and it was, but at the same time, it was a thousand times more difficult than he ever would have imagined and that was with Alfred doing half, if not more, of the heavily lifting. “What if he has super strength? What if he’s a telepath? Or if he turns blue and grows spikes? I have no idea how to raise a child like that.” He was barely keeping his head above water as it was, but this was something impossible being thrown in his way.

“Master Bruce, do you have any idea how to raise a typical child like the one you have upstairs right now who is displaying no atypical traits other than a panache for performing gymnastics from extremely high objects without any regard for his own self-preservation?”

Bruce’s head snapped back to look up at Alfred like he had been slapped. “Excuse me?”

“It wasn’t a criticism, my boy, merely an observation of the human experience. No first time parent,” Alfred cut off Bruce’s intended interruption with a stern look that continued to work well past his adolescence, “or guardian really knows how to raise a child, just as how no parent with multiple children knows exactly how to do it perfectly each time because every child is different with their own unique personalities. You do have the disadvantage of jumping in partway through, but you are far from the first to do so, and you are learning one day at a time, best as you can.”

“Helping with homework and putting band aids on skinned knees is one thing, Alfred. This is something else entirely.” Bruce muttered becoming increasingly frustrated that Alfred didn’t seem to think that this was a big a deal as he was. Like he was over reacting to earthshattering news.

“Raising a metahuman child should be no different, only perhaps some unique challenges based on however said gifts present themselves. If anything presents. It is my understanding that not all do.” Bruce said nothing, and just stared at Alfred, who only shook his head in response. “Goodness, Bruce. If you have concerns, why don’t you simply ask someone with experience in such things? You have a rolodex full of enhanced individuals.” Bruce gave an irritated huff and started typing on the computer again, started the analysis again for one more time, which caused Alfred to sigh before standing up fully, brushing his hands quickly against his pants, clearly aware that Bruce was done talking about it at least for now. “Would you care for some tea or is something stronger called for after this information has come to light?”

“Tea would be lovely.” Alfred turned and started to walk away but didn’t get far before Bruce grabbed his wrist in a loose grasp, causing him to pause and look back down. “Thank you, Al. For everything.”

Alfred smiled and left Bruce to himself. He picked up his phone and began to scroll through his contacts. Alfred was right. The League was still very new, only formalized a few months before Dick had stumbled into his life, but it was full of people with exceptional abilities and skills, all of whom said that they would be willing to come to his aid whenever he asked, but most of them didn’t really fit the specific need that he had right now. His first instinct was to go to Clark, but both he and J’onn were aliens, not really metas by definition. Jordan’s ring was the conduit for his powers, but he was a standard human without it. Arthur and Diana were human but still something else without a metagene. There was only one person in his specific circle of associates that had the exact experience and knowledge that he was searching for.

He had a meeting to arrange.

* * *

“So the big, scary Bat with his ‘no metas in Gotham’ policy is doing research on the metagene and has called me in for a consult.” Once the laughter subsided, Barry clapped Bruce on the shoulder, squeezing it far more than Bruce thought was appropriate for a colleague to do. “Did you only ask me as your token meta friend? Because if that’s the case, it’s a little rude. I’m more than just my DNA, Bruce.” Grin on his face, it was clear that Barry was just picking on him, but Bruce really wasn’t in the mood for teasing, either at his own or Barry’s expense.

Bruce didn’t know Barry Allen all that well if he was being honest with himself. He hadn’t made the effort to get to know the man behind the mask beyond what he could find out for himself through his research, but what he did know about him outside of his rather exhausting personality was encouraging. An experienced crime scene investigator with a strong work ethic was an asset on its own, even without the abilities that his metagene had granted him.

Bruce’s message had been both somehow very specific and non-informative all at the same time. A simple text asking him to come to Gotham to discuss an inquiry he had about metagene research that he wasn’t comfortable discussing over the phone. Bruce had even fruitlessly offered to buy Barry a plane ticket, but Barry had ignored that part, instead appearing in front of him not more two seconds later, laughing in his face. “I have never said that metas aren’t allowed in Gotham, but the way that this city seems to escalate problems, it’s easier just to avoid needlessly ramping things up. I called you because you are a man of science who has an interest in cause and effect and mysteries,” Barry raised an eyebrow and it was a struggle from Bruce to keep from looking even the slightest bit embarrassed while confirming the last part of Barry’s claim, “who also happens to have the metagene.”

Barry’s eyes rolled dramatically with the conclusion of that thought. “Of course.”

“More than that, you have a relationship with Star Labs who has done a lot of undocumented research on the subject.” This did get Barry’s attention because it was a closely guarded secret that he had allowed himself to be tested by their labs, and had been working with them to learn more about other metas in Central City and hadn’t, as of yet, gone public with what they had learned. It was obvious that Barry was surprised that Bruce knew about it. “There is only so much that I can learn from the published research. I’m looking for someone with deeper, practical experience that I can trust, Barry.”

Bruce sat down behind his desk, and Barry sat down on the other side, and began tapping lightly against the chair arms, speeding up so that his fingers were almost a blur before abruptly moving his hands in his lap and began twiddling his thumbs instead, seeming to be aware that the sound of the tapping would be aggravating to others and diverting the movement to something less distracting. “Why is this so important suddenly? You’ve never shown much interest in metas, other than giving off the impression that you weren’t a fan.” Bruce’s blank expression must have slipped, because Barry rushed on quickly, almost talking over himself. “Don’t worry. I didn’t take it personally.”

Bruce swallowed, remembering the many times that words that were disparaging about metas had left his mouth, either on purpose or by accident, and now wishing that he had kept his thoughts on the matter to himself because now that it was someone that he cared about, someone he more than liked, someone who had weaseled their way into his heart in a way that he didn’t know as possible, well, his opinion on the matter had somewhat started to maybe change. Or he was open to the idea. “It doesn’t matter why. I just want to educate myself better. To get a bigger picture and grasp on the whole thing.”

And then the cat was out of the bag.

Bruce heard the approach way before he saw him, tiny feet thundering down the hallway before the grinning face and bright blue eyes popped around the doorframe, interrupting both men in their awkward conversation without a care in the world. “Hey Bruce? Can I go outside and ride my bike? I’ll stay on the driveway and… oh, hi!” Dick came into the room with a twirl and stopped directly beside Barry’s chair, sticking his hand out with vigor. “Hi! I’m Dick!”

“I’m Barry. Very nice to meet you, Dick.” Barry smiled brightly and shook Dick’s hand firm and quick, with only the smallest look to Bruce out of the corner of his eye, questions threatening to spill before Bruce was ready for them to be talked about, especially in front of the child.

Bruce responded to the original question, both to let the child get on with his fun and to divert any more questions until he was gone. “Yes, you can ride your bike. Don’t go near the gates and put your helmet on. Stay where Alfred and I can see you.”

Dick was skipping out of the room before Bruce was done talking. “Sure thing, Brucester! Nice to meet you, Barry!” Waving as he disappeared around the door, Dick was running back down the hallway, yelling to Alfred as he went, leaving Barry and Bruce alone in the room again, but the atmosphere had shifted from before. Barry’s face still had a crooked smile on it that didn’t look like it was letting up any time soon.

Bruce hadn’t told Dick that he should go to Alfred instead of him while Barry was visiting, but Barry had shown up far faster had been expected so he hadn’t gotten the chance. He hadn’t been planning in introducing the two today, but now that was done and the obvious clues to his request were now laid out on the table.

“So. That’s either a new development or you’ve been keeping even more secrets that we thought.”

“It’s been a few months but it’s still new. It’s not public knowledge yet. We’re still adjusting.” Only a small amount of people knew that Dick was in Bruce’s care – Alfred, Leslie, Captain Gordon, Clark, Diana and then a few at social services. He was still a part of a police investigation, but Bruce knew he was getting close to finding Zucco. It was only a matter of days. “He knows about… all this, but Clark’s the only one he’s met so far.”

“You still sticking to your claim that your sudden interest in the metagene doesn’t matter?” asked Barry, obvious question of what he was really asking going unsaid. Bruce said nothing in response, but it was obvious what the answer was. Barry continued to smile, but it was smaller and more sincere than he had been earlier. “Anything you want to know, I can try and help, but you have to remember that I didn’t get my powers until after the accident. I didn’t grow up as a little speed demon or anything.” Barry relaxed back in his chair. “I have the metagene, but it was latent. Since I was an adult when the accident happened, I have to guess that it would have never presented otherwise. Assuming that you have read the same basic research as I have, you know that it says that thirteen percent of the population have the metagene. That may seem high but my personal theory, backed up by what we’ve seen at STAR, is that it is probably much higher than that and it is going unnoticed because of two key factors. The first is that the gene is dormant, meaning that they are more like carriers, or they are presenting but it is something so passive or benign that people aren’t noticing that there is something going on.”

That surprised Bruce. Higher than thirteen percent? Thirteen percent had seemed high to him, and now to hear that it was probably more was astounding. How much higher? Twenty? Thirty? And how did people not know that they had extraordinary powers? “Can you explain that second one further?”

“What if their power is for something extremely specific? What if someone’s power is that when they play darts, and only darts, they always get a bullseye? What if that person never plays darts?”

Bruce’s eyes lit up, seeing where Barry was going with this. “They would never know they have the power.”

“Exactly. There could be someone who has the ability to always win big on the lottery, but I would guess that if someone won a $180 million dollar Powerball ticket, they would probably stop playing the lottery because they wouldn’t feel the need to keep going. What would be the point? Even if they played multiple times, the thrill would wear off and they’d get bored.” Barry ran his hand through his hair and leaned back in his chair, considering other options. “There could also be people who are aware of their gift but it is still so passive or latent that it doesn’t really make a difference. What if someone’s super power is that they give the best hugs in the world? It’s super nice, but not something that can really be tracked or really taken advantage of.”

“I’m sure there is a way.”

Barry looked at Bruce in a calculated way before charging ahead with the thing that he had been dancing around. “Does Dick have any power manifestation or does he just have the gene?” Bruce didn’t respond. He didn’t want to confirm or deny that this had anything to do with Dick, even though it clearly did. He didn’t want to say the words any more than he had to, not wanting to accidently tempt fate into making anything materialize through magic.

“Look, I know that you and I aren’t particularly friendly yet, but if I know anything about you I’m willing to bet that you are looking at it from a more catastrophic level than you need to. You are thinking about the Alpha or Beta level threats, people like me, that Checkmate and other agencies try to keep tabs on. Those types of powers make up a very small amount of the meta population, and the rest are mostly very little to zero threat. I know that some of these powers make you feel uneasy but I’m part of the exception, not the rule, Bruce.” Barry nodded to the window, where they could see Dick on his bike, standing up on the peddles and trying rather unsuccessfully to bunny hop onto the curb from a standstill. “Whatever is going on with him, chances are he’s not going to start lighting things on fire with his mind any time soon.”

“And if he does?” When it came down to it, that was Bruce’s deepest concern. That whatever power Dick had would manifest into something terrible, something that would cause more death and destruction in its waking. Something that they couldn’t control.

“You’ll invest in fire extinguishers and try to teach him how to use his powers responsibly.” It sounded like a joke, but Barry appeared serious which Bruce appreciated. “And hopefully ask for help if you need it. Nothing is impossible to work around and I’m glad you called me, Bruce. As much as I think you are overreacting a smidge, you wanted help and you asked, even if you didn’t exactly phrase it that way. It shows how much you care about him.”

“I want to do right by him. He needs me.”

“I’m sure there’s a story here. People don’t accidentally end up with six year olds.”

“He’s nine.”

“No. Really? He’s tiny for nine.” Barry looked out the window again, and this time Dick saw them and waved frantically. Both men waved back and Dick took off, racing farther down the driveway at top speed. “You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want. I get that it’s personal and you and I aren’t exactly there yet.”

Bruce considered. He hadn’t developed many personal relationships in the League outside of Clark and Diana, but he had also invited Barry into his home and while it hadn’t been on purpose, he had met Dick. Alfred was always saying that he should put more trust in his League colleagues. He might as well start swimming now after he’s already jumped in the deep end, especially when Dick’s story was one that Barry could relate to on a personal level like he had.

“It started with a trip to the circus.”

* * *

It took weeks before Bruce stopped checking Dick’s head to see if he was growing horns, and even longer to shake the idea that Dick might be reading his mind, but eventually the worry about Dick’s potential metahuman presentation moved from the forefront of Bruce’s mind and became something that he only thought about when he let his mind wander and he wasn’t preoccupied with other things. The part the bothered him the most though was that without any idea as to what Dick’s abilities were, he had no way to successfully prepare if they were to manifest.

It took 1214 days before Bruce fully realized that gravity didn’t work quite right around Dick. It wasn’t obvious or flashy – it wasn’t as if the boy could actually fly – but if you watched carefully enough you could see his trajectory change mid freefall. He’d suddenly be able to grab a handhold at the last possible second that had been out of reach a nanosecond before. His landing momentum would speed up or slow down depending on what he was going to do next. If Dick thought that he could jump across something, it wouldn’t always be pretty, but he would make it.

And the most interesting thing to Bruce was that Dick didn’t seem to notice that it was happening.

That was until one day when he found Dick in the living room sitting on the couch and frowning at his laptop, with a notebook filled with scribbled equations and a calculator sitting beside it on the coffee table. Bruce watched for a while from the doorway, watching as Dick watched something on his computer, wrote something down, punching some numbers into the calculator before groaning and throwing the pencil down on the table. Dick rarely struggled with homework, especially not with math, and Bruce was curious about what was stumping him.

“Need some help?”

Dick startled at Bruce’s voice and froze momentarily, eyes darting back and forth between Bruce and the laptop, as if he were trying to decide whether to slam it shut or to let Bruce see what the issue was, but as Bruce got closer, Dick made up his mind and nudged the computer so that Bruce could see what was up on the screen.

It was video from Bruce’s cowl, where the view was following Robin as he leapt off a building and landing on a lower rooftop across the alley. The data from his angles, speed and distance were scrolling on the right side, colour coded as it ran through the algorithm that collected all their data for analysis later. Bruce’s eyes cast down to the paper at the equations.

Dick was trying to calculate his own velocity and it wasn’t working. Bruce sat down beside him on the couch and closed his eyes, trying to figure out what he was going to do. This was the moment that he had been trying to avoid for years now because he didn’t know how to talk about it or if he should just let it go and ignore it. Whether he was ready or not, it was happening.

Dick was still talking about the numbers on the screen, not noticing Bruce’s internal panic in the slightest. “I don’t know where I’m going wrong. The trajectory is all off. If these numbers are right, I shouldn’t have been able to make that landing. Is it bad data? Or my math is way off” Dick shook his shoulder, and pointed at his notebook when Bruce grudgingly opened his eyes again. “Can you take a look at this?”

The math was right. It was that the data and the results that were never going to add up. Bruce pulled the laptop closer to him and pulled up a different file. This one was from Robin’s mask camera and watching Bruce do a similar action. Once again, the data on the right scrolled up with the stats and Bruce turned the laptop back to Dick. “Try it with this video instead.”

This time the equation balanced perfectly, velocity calculating to the proper amount matching, to within a certain degree of allowance for human error, Bruce’s landing accurately on the screen. Dick stared at the numbers for a long time without a word. He finally lifted his head back up to Bruce, and Bruce saw it all over his face. Dick knew something was off about his videos and data. This wasn’t something that he had stumbled upon. This was something that Dick had gone looking for. “What went wrong on the other one? Where did I go wrong with the video of me?” He was whispering, afraid of the answer that he seemed to know was coming.

“You didn’t. Your math was correct based on the data.”

“But wh…” Dick’s face fell, crushed under some sort of understanding that whatever he had been trying to find out was true. “It’s me. There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”

“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you, chum.” Bruce said automatically, but Dick was already shaking his head in disagreement.

“There is. It’s obvious. There have been too many close calls. Times when I should have fallen, but managed to land fine. Impossible things.” He flipped to another video where Batman had watched Robin run and jump from one building to another, numbers scrolling once more and Bruce saw exactly what Dick would have seen. “Normal people can’t jump that far.” 

“You are normal.” Bruce didn’t mention that he had followed by using his grapple where Dick had gone without.

“The world record for the long jump is 8.95 meters, B. That gap was 9.5. I went back and measured it three times.” That confirmed it. Dick wasn't researching this on a whim. He had noticed and something must have happened to make him investigate it thoroughly.

“You are perfect exactly as you are. You are extraordinary and you are mine.” Bruce reached forward and closed the laptop before sitting back onto the couch, pulling Dick back with him and wrapping his arm across his shoulders. Dick still seemed so small, so much smaller than the other thirteen year olds that Bruce saw at Gotham Academy, but he could feel the power of the strong shoulders under his arm and could see how much he had grown in just under four years. It was time to tell him the truth. “As far as I can tell there is something different about the relationship that you have with gravity than other people do, but there is nothing _wrong_ with you, Dick.”

Dick’s head fell against Bruce’s chest and he felt it nod. “Am I a meta?” His voice was small and quiet, reminiscent of the days when he had been smaller and grieving and it made Bruce want to somehow vanish all his problems away.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Bruce expected an explosion at the confirmation, some sort of teenage rage that he had seen whispers of so far in Dick. He waited for it to burst through the seams at the fact that Bruce had never mentioned it to him before, but instead Dick just deflated with the news, melting down further into the couch and curling up into a tiny ball, head now resting against Bruce’s leg. “Are you okay with that?” whispered Dick, and it put Bruce’s heart into a vice. Was he worried that Bruce would be upset? That he would be rejected because of this? That he wasn’t the same as he had been before the information was out?

“Of course.” He didn’t mention that he had freaked out when he had found out. Maybe he would another time, but not now. This wasn’t about him. “Are you okay with it?”

“I don’t know. I guess.” Dick mumbled and shifted his position. “It’s a lot. I’ve been suspecting something was up for a while.”

“Is that why you are trying to solve velocity trajectories using your own data in your free time?” Dick liked math, but it wasn’t exactly like him to go out of his way to do extra work on a free afternoon just for fun.

“A little, yeah.” Dick took a deep breath and shuddered. Bruce didn’t know what to say and honestly, he didn’t think that there was anything that he could that would do anything right now. Right now, all Dick needed to do was process everything on his own before thinking about any implications that it may bring. Maybe he’d want to continue to ignore it or maybe he’d want to test it. It seemed like something that he’d probably be interested in; to see what his limits were or weren’t. To see how close he could get to really flying.

But today was not that day. Today was the day that Bruce pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and tucked it around Dick, while the both sat in the darkening room without speaking, staring into the fireplace that neither of them remembered turning on.

Over an hour passed before Dick’s voice cracked through the silence. “Do you think…” There was a choked sob which surprised Bruce because he hadn’t even noticed that Dick had been crying, and Bruce’s hand automatically went to his hair, stroking through the locks in what he hoped was a soothing motion as his son fell apart on his lap. Dick eventually wiped his eyes on his sleeve and sniffed a few more times. “Do you think that if I had fallen with my parents that I could have saved them?”

“Oh, chum.” Bruce bundled Dick up and hugged him tight against his chest. “Questions like that don’t have answers.”

“Guess. Please.” Dick whispered, arms around Bruce’s neck like it was the only thing keeping him afloat. “I need to know, B.”

Bruce rubbed his back while he thought about the question. Dick would know if he was lying, would not if he was just placating a distraught child with pleasantries and wishful thinking instead of giving him a straight answer. “Honestly, my guess is no. From my research most meta powers don’t manifest until puberty. I didn’t start seeing anything in your data until this year and I had been looking for something. I don’t think you could have done anything. You probably would have just fallen with them, sweetheart.”

Dick’s arms tightened around him, and there was nothing that Bruce could do to help the heartbroken child in his arms other than to rock him back and forth and murmur reassurances with a gentle tone.

He thought back to the beginning when he was worried about how to raise a meta child and all the problems that it could bring. Alfred had been right; he had been worried about the wrong things.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.


End file.
